


Tickle the Raccoon

by orphan_account



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Catatonic Rocket, Cuddling & Snuggling, Denial of Feelings, Embarrassment, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Foot Jobs, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Interspecies Relationship(s), M/M, Minor Gamora/Peter Quill, Minor Rocket Raccoon/Thor, Oral Sex, The Snapture, Tickling, Trolling the Avengers, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-04-23 18:14:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14338218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Peter/Rocket drabbles and one-shot stories based on Tumblr prompts. Rating will be noted for each chapter.





	1. Shame and Blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Superficially wounded after a rough battle, Peter waits for Rocket to keep him company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt, "one gets hurt protecting the other." Hurt/comfort, nothing sexual.

A few hours after he had been moved from the medbay to his own bed, Peter did some mental estimation on how much time each Guardian had spent at his side, taking care of his needs and indulging him down to his most ridiculous requests. Mantis had done the most for him, what with her trick that didn’t exactly eliminate pain, but made him stop noticing it. The others had run back and forth fetching what he needed, or spent time sitting nearby to keep him company...with one very conspicuous exception.

During a few moments when he was alone, he entered an override on the intercom system to eavesdrop. It didn’t take long at all to find Rocket’s voice, threaded with Gamora’s on the bridge. 

She was angry: “Just go in there and check on him! He’s been asking for you. And don’t pretend you need to be piloting right now!”

Rocket’s emotions were harder to identify. “He’s fine. You said he was fine. I don’t need to see for myself.”

“You do need to show him you care about him. Honestly, Rocket! This is Peter we’re talking about! Your--”

“I ain’t goin’ in there!” Rocket cut in with startling vehemence. “Maybe...uh...maybe later. Tell me when he’s asleep.”

There was a pause before Gamora hissed, “I won’t tell you anything. You should be ashamed of yourself. After what he did for you!” 

Her exit was audible, boots stomping across the hard floor and out the hatch. Clearly there was nobody else in the room but Rocket, because in another moment, the sound of his breathing changed. Peter could hear sniffling and a few sad little gasps as Rocket kept on with whatever he was doing. It was too much to bear; Peter switched the comm off and lay back on his pillows. 

His wound in his side was throbbing again, but before asking for Mantis, he called in Groot. The young tree, six feet tall and resembling his sire more every day, blinked guilelessly at Peter as he made his request. “Could you tell Rocket I don’t blame him?”

“I am Groot?” Matters of communication still seemed to perplex him, sometimes. Why couldn’t Peter tell Rocket that himself? Was the intercom system broken?

Peter was patient about it. “I know, but he’ll believe it if it comes from you. Just go find him and say it, okay Groot? Tell him it’s not his fault.”

As soon as Groot left, Peter closed his eyes, finally feeling like he could relax. He let his side keep hurting, reasoning he shouldn’t risk an overdose on empathy, but drifted into sleep anyway, not knowing it until the door sliding open woke him up.

“Hi,” said Peter. His eyes had opened facing the wall, but he knew it was Rocket, even after getting no response to his greeting. He didn’t turn around to add, “Come here. What are you doing? Come over here.”

Rocket didn’t move much closer, but he did finally speak, his voice husky and hesitant. “You’re alright?”

Peter rolled his head around to look at him. “Yeah I’m alright. Just lonely. Where the hell have you been?”

“Takin’ care of stuff. I…” He fidgeted, scratching his arm, then blurted out, “You deserve this, you know that? Jumpin’ in front of me like that. You freakin’ idiot.”

“Rocket. That shot would have killed you. I timed it right and all I got was an ouchy spot that’ll go away in a few days. It’s a fair trade.”

Rocket was shaking his head violently from side to side, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “No, you shoulda just...you shoulda…” He rubbed a furious hand across his face. “It _is_ my fault, you can’t say it’s not.”

“Fine,” said Peter. He couldn’t reach out quite far enough to touch Rocket, and it was starting to exasperate him. “So make it up to me. I mean, I was kind of hoping you’d take advantage of me in my weakened state, but if that’s a no-go you could at least bring me some pie. Or, like, find some new music we could play. Shit, man, you know what kind of stuff I like, use your imagination.”

Ears twitching, Rocket took one half-step forward, then hesitated again. “Can I stay in here?”

“Are you _deaf?_ ” Peter complained. “Don’t make me get up and drag you into bed, I’ll pull my stitches.”

With a wheezing little laugh, Rocket finally hoisted himself up and let Peter put an arm around him. They lay there quietly for a moment, and Peter had the fully contented thought that he might fall asleep again soon. 

Before he did, though, he felt Rocket turning around to face him, and opened his eyes to a solemn dark gaze in the furry mask. “I’m sorry,” Rocket whispered.

“I’m not,” Peter replied. He kissed his nose, yawned, and tugged the blanket up to cover both of them. “Fair trade.”


	2. A Death in the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unaccustomed to being the supportive one, Rocket nonetheless tries to offer what he can while Peter is grieving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Rocket comforting Peter about Yondu's death." Friendship/pre-slash.

They had all been congregating in Peter’s bunk, squeezed into the small space and tolerating it for the sake of company during the mourning period, but one by one they bid him goodnight and went off to their own beds.

Rocket was last, and it was clear right away that he had stayed intentionally, with something to say that was for Peter alone. Sure enough, he sat himself at the foot of the narrow bed and began to talk. “I, uh, I never had a dad or nothin’ like that, but…” He swallowed nervously. “I had Groot. And...I’m just tryin’ to say...I know how it hurts really bad when they die. But I don’t know what to do to make it better. Maybe it just always hurts and there ain’t nothing we can do about it.”

Peter had started out half-listening, still sunken in his own memories and expecting nothing more than another iteration of the same words of comfort that the others had given him, each with their personal or cultural experiences with death to flavor the sentiment. He was grateful to all of them, but his mood hadn’t changed since the funeral. In a way that nobody had quite acknowledged, this was all routine.

Rocket’s reference to Groot evoked something different, though. The night following his death, Rocket had been inconsolable, and Peter had finally dropped all pretensions and just held onto his friend -- his new friend, at the time -- to let him sob it out for as long as he needed. That was when he had realized exactly how alone Rocket had always been, how enormous it made his loss, how absolutely essential the Guardians would be to his continued existence. 

“No,” said Peter carefully. “There’s one thing that makes it better.” 

That seemed to encourage Rocket, although his voice still came out in hesitant stammers. “See, there were some people I liked, before Groot, and they died. And that hurt too, just in a different way. So I know I don’t got any right to be sad about Yondu, but I thought, maybe that happened to you too, sometime? You only got to know someone a little bit, but you liked them and then they died?”

Peter nodded. “It was like that for me and the old Groot. Of course you have the right to be sad about Yondu. I’m glad you liked him. You had a lot in common, did you know that?”

“Yes!” Rocket was suddenly taut and animated, his tail whipping the air behind him. “He told me that! He said his parents sold their baby and he pushed his Ravager family away and I stole batteries because I was scared. And I thought, I thought if we got out of it alive I was gonna try bein’ less of a shitbag and sayin’ sometimes how I feel.” He stopped short, turning his face away and rubbing at his muzzle as if he couldn’t believe what had just come out of it, but then he gamely went on. “Yondu did that. I know it don’t matter much, but -- I just had to tell ya, he did that for me.”

“Hey, Rocket?” Peter inquired softly.

“Yeah?”

“How do you think you’d take it if I cried a little bit?”

Rocket’s ears flicked in alarm. “Like, right now?” Peter grunted in affirmation, and Rocket took a deep breath. “Yeah, okay. I’ll just...I’ll just stay here?”

Peter moved slowly, and Rocket didn’t flinch from being enveloped in his arms. “Yeah,” he breathed into his neck fur as they both settled down onto the mattress. “You stay right here.”


	3. One Blanket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rocket finds a comfy place to sit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was "cuddling," and that's all this is: warm, snuggly, happy Rocket and Peter sharing a blanket.

“Aren’t you cold?”

Rocket looked down from the metal shelf in Quill’s bunk, where he had been invited to watch a Terran movie that had randomly turned up in one of the junk sales they had been browsing. It was a little cold up there, but it hadn’t occurred to him to sit anywhere else. When it was just him and a human in an enclosed area, by reflex he would position himself as far as possible from the human. “You got the only blanket,” he pointed out.

“Yep,” said Quill, flopping backward onto his bed with a controller in his hands. “I’m not gonna go find you another one, but if you sit down here you can share mine.” He spread the blanket over his legs and pulled part of it to the side to show how much room there was.

“I ain’t gonna sit there on your smelly bed with you,” Rocket informed him. It looked comfortable. It really wasn’t smelly at all.

Quill put his face into his pillow, sniffed, and came up again with a shrug. “Okay,” he said affably, and started the movie.

Suddenly afraid he would miss his chance, Rocket blurted out, “Fine! Just don’t touch me.” He jumped down and landed in the center of the mattress. It made Quill bounce, but all he did was hand over half the blanket, as he had promised. His attention seemed to be entirely on the screen.

There was enough fabric to cover Rocket and still leave a few inches of spaces between them, but his heart was pounding anyway. He did his best to hide his apprehension; he didn’t think he could take it if Quill noticed and offered him some kind of reassurance. It wasn’t something he could explain, if it came to words, but being this close to a sentient humanoid, this vulnerable, was hard to do.

It was also intoxicating. Quill smelled _good._ His body heat was just what Rocket wanted at the moment. It would feel so nice to just press up to his chest and fall asleep. In the lab, Rocket had come to understand that being handled in any way meant there was pain coming, or confinement or unconsciousness, but somehow he had never stopped craving touch. Even if it did hurt, he thought maybe it would be worth it if it came from Quill. He just wasn’t sure if he could trust his own reflexes. Better to keep those inches between them.

Ten minutes passed. Quill laughed a couple times, but Rocket didn’t even know what was happening in the movie. Experimentally, he let his head drop back against Quill’s arm. Nothing terrible happened, so he scooted up higher into the triangle formed by arm and torso. It was warmer there. Comforting. He gave a soft chitter of contentment, then clamped a hand around his muzzle when he realized it had been out loud.

Instead of asking about the sound or even acknowledging it, Quill shifted as if trying to get more comfortable, but when he had settled again the only result was that Rocket was nestled in his arms like a kit. Rocket was also effectively trapped. If an enemy had him in a hold like this, he’d be done for, and his body knew it and tensed up for a last-ditch fight. The rational part of his mind was just embarrassed. Quill had to have noticed by now that he was acting weird. What was he going to think? That Rocket was just some little monster after all? That he was too weak to deserve his independence?

 _Quill’s not an enemy,_ he told himself. _He’ll let me go if I want to go._ It worked; he could believe that. Now the only question was whether he wanted to go.

As if on cue, Quill drew his hand down Rocket’s head and raked his fingers through his neck fur. Then he did it again. Drax had done something like this, once, and Rocket still remembered how shocked he had been to find that he could have a good feeling while he was so miserable. He wanted more of that, but he had assumed it wouldn’t work without the misery component. “I said don’t touch me,” he said feebly, hoping against hope that Quill would ignore him and keep stroking.

“Sorry,” Quill answered, and pulled back his arm.

Resigned, Rocket kept his position and tried to concentrate on the screen. He lasted a few minutes before twisting around so he could nuzzle Quill’s skin. He tried a lick at the hollow of his throat, and Quill giggled, a completely different sound than the chuckles he had making over the movie. Without giving himself a chance to think it over first, Rocket braced a knee against Quill’s chest and pushed himself up to reach his head. He liked human eyebrows, those little strips of fur they had on their otherwise bare faces, and the short bristly hair that Quill always had growing on his chin and cheeks. He had been wanting to groom it for ages. This was as good a time as any to try.

Not only did Quill let him lick all over his face, clinging to his hair and almost certainly blocking his view, but after a reasonable interval he craned his arm up and started stroking again. Rocket hesitated, then slumped back down, boneless, to revel in the sensation and soak up Quill’s warmth. He closed his eyes.

When he opened them the screen was rolling credits. “So what did you think?” asked Quill as he sat up to turn it off.

“It was stupid,” said Rocket by reflex, alarmed that he couldn’t recall a single thing about the movie. He adjusted his clothing and tried to comb his fur back into place.

“Uh-huh.” Quill was grinning, apparently unfazed. “Just out of curiosity, do you even have any idea what we were watching?”

“‘Course I do. It was about some humans on Terra, bein’ stupid.”

Quill scratched his eyebrow, making it look significant. “Well, you’re half right. Yeah, you know what? I owe you one for making you sit through that. Next time you pick the movie.” He paused, making that significant, too. “Oh, and don’t forget to bring your own blanket, if you want one.”

It developed into something of a tradition, but Rocket never once remembered to bring a blanket. Quill never reminded him about it again.


	4. Put a Bounty on Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's see how bad someone wants ya...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: High school AU with bad boy raccoon falling for dorky Peter.
> 
> When I first asked for Roquill drabble requests, I specified that I defined the word the old way, as a 100-word story. I didn't get any response until I caved and took the word limit off, but for this one I had to retreat to the "classic drabble", since I had no idea what to do with a teenage AU.
> 
> If anyone's interested in snagging this and building something longer from it, you're welcome to do so! That also goes for most of the others in this series.

“Well, look who’s back in detention,” laughed Mr. Dey. “Have a seat, Star-Prince.”

Peter half-heartedly corrected him, then slumped into the desk next to the only other student in the room, a bipedal raccoon who was picking at his teeth and sniggering. “This is all your fault,” Peter hissed at him.

“Hey, don’t blame me for your dad offerin’ me forty bucks to find you.” He yawned. “You shoulda just come with me. All’s you woulda got was grounded.”

“Bite me.”

About to retort, the raccoon suddenly hesitated. “That ain’t a bad idea.” He grinned. “Name’s Rocket, by the way.”


	5. Toys for Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rocket's getting used to Yondu being used to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: AU in which Yondu lives on to torment Peter and Rocket as an embarrassing, no-filter, nosy dad.

The hatch was to Rocket’s back, but he could tell by sound and scent that the person coming in was Yondu, and his hackles went up. Last night, Peter had murmured, “I think he knows,” while they were falling asleep, and Rocket had been bracing for a confrontation all day.

Peter wasn’t here at the moment, but Gamora and Mantis were, and Rocket wasn’t sure if Yondu would talk in front of them. He wasn’t sure how much he wanted to say in front of them, either, never mind that they were watching the stars and engaged in their own conversation. They already knew about his relationship with Peter, but just because they didn’t have a problem with it didn’t mean Peter’s father wouldn’t.

Rocket didn’t say anything or turn around until Yondu came right up to his seat and gave a meaningful cough. “Hey, rat. ‘Bout you and my boy…”

Fueled by a sudden spark of fury, Rocket whipped his head around and bared his teeth. “Yeah? I’m gettin’ it from Pete every night and he frickin’ loves it. Go ahead, you old creep. Tell me it’s obscene and it’s wrong and you’re not gonna let it go on any longer.” 

“Whuh?” Yondu waved a hand as if to brush the tirade away. “No, fool. I just wanna make sure you know what you’re about. Which one o’ y’all’s on top?”

Rocket was momentarily struck dumb. “Wait, you…?”

“I’d take your word he loves it, but ya gotta face some facts here, rat, most o’ the screamin’ I hear comin’ from his bunk is yours.”

There was a brief, echoing silence, broken by Gamora smothering a laugh. Rocket turned his glare on her, and she lifted her hands in a shrug. “I’m sorry, Rocket, but it’s true you’re the loud one.”

The only way Rocket could think to deal was to storm out of the bridge, find Peter, and not tell him why he was flustered and hiding. 

It wasn’t a solution that lasted for long, of course, since they all gathered in the mess together for dinner. Rocket put himself next to Peter as usual, but couldn’t do anything about Yondu sitting down across from him. Before even looking at his food, Yondu laced his fingers together and addressed Rocket gravely. “Ya had many boyfriends before?”

Peter looked at Yondu, then Rocket, then back at Yondu. “The hell are you talking about?”

“Quiet, boy, let him speak for hisself.”

Everyone was listening now. Drax perked up, interested. “Rocket hasn’t told us of his prior sexual relations. I would also like to know.”

“It’s none of anyone’s business,” Rocket snapped. He pointed at Yondu. “Especially yours.”

Yondu countered by waving an arm in Peter’s direction. “Well it’s his, ain’t it? How you gonna keep your man satisfied if you’re a greenhorn sourpuss all the time?”

“Oh my God.” Quill leaned his forehead on his fists. “Yondu, shut up.”

Yondu didn’t shut up. Yondu brought it up again first thing in the morning, when Peter was still in the shower and Rocket was programming new functions into the ship’s weapon system. He was so absorbed that he didn’t sense anyone coming, and nearly jumped out of his fur when an oversized holo-screen appeared in front of him. “Look here,” drawled Yondu. “Most up-to-date catalog o’ grown-up toys you’ll find anywheres. Best ya get a few, bring ‘em out when ya need some new life in the bedroom.”

Rocket groaned and flopped backward, letting his tools fall out of his hands. There had to be some way to get rid of Yondu, it just hadn’t come to him yet. He was damned if he would shop for sex toys with him, though. Cracking open one embarrassed eye, he chanced a look at the catalog. It was...intriguing.

“Hey, ya know what?” he said, sitting upright again. “I think I gotta take Pete on vacation. Get a room somewhere nice, take along some of this, uh, grown-up stuff.”

The idea got Yondu’s enthusiastic approval, and within the hour Rocket was practically dragging Peter to a spare M-ship so they could make their escape. “What’s the occasion?” Peter asked, placidly confused.

“You owe me some frickin’ privacy,” Rocket snarled. He swiped open the vessel’s hatch. “Plus I got some toys. Get in.”


	6. Bare Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kissing gets interrupted by tickling which turns into more tickling which turns into...did Rocket just say what I think he said?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Tickle the raccoon." 
> 
> Yes, here we are, finally. :) 
> 
> This chapter is sexually explicit. If there is any reason that you shouldn't or don't want to read some filth about a guy and a cyberraccoon, please take heed!

It was a satisfying kiss, deep and hungry, and Peter felt shorted when Rocket pulled back abruptly, ending it, and took all of his limbs away from where they had been so comfortably tangled together on the bed.

“What?” Peter asked, more annoyed than concerned and trying not to let either into his voice. He was sure he hadn’t crossed any lines. He was _careful_ , dammit. He knew his way around Rocket’s fears and doubts.

“Whaddaya keep laughin’ about?” the raccoon demanded. “This funny to you?”

Peter shook his head, smiling. “Oh, geez, no. Your whiskers were just tickling my face, I couldn’t help it. Come back here.”

He reached out for him, but Rocket was still hesitating, a suspicious slant to his eyebrows. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Uh. Why wouldn’t you? Whisker meets bare skin, tickling happens. I like it.” He studied Rocket’s expression for a moment, and then caught on to what he had been missing. “But yoooouuu...don’t have any bare skin on your face, so you don’t know how that feels. Okay. Can you take my word for it?”

“I still don’t get why it makes you laugh.”

“I said, it _tickles,_ ” Peter sighed, falling back onto the mattress to play up the drama of his innocence. Then something else occurred to him, and he sat up straight again. “Wait, do you not know how that feels at all? Have you never been tickled?”

Rocket fixed him with a haughty stare. “‘Course I haven’t. I don’t got bare skin anywhere, ‘cept…” He didn’t have to specify; Peter knew he was talking about his back, the one place he had firmly forbidden him from ever touching. “So how would it even work?” 

Peter grinned broadly. “Please tell me that’s an invitation.”

“Try it, loser. You’re not gonna make me laugh by wigglin’ your fingers at me.” 

“Oh, so it’s a dare? You’re on.” He expected to have to try it all over Rocket’s body to figure out where his sweet spots were, but he started by going under his crossed arms, and it took the space of a second for Rocket to bust out a loud, startled laugh. Victorious, Peter pointed a finger-gun at him and smirked. “I should’ve set a timer.”

Rocket clamped his mouth shut, then protested, “That didn’t count! I wasn’t ready!”

“Are you ready now?” Peter dove back in and went for his armpits again, and the only response Rocket could manage was another cascade of hilarity. He rolled over on his side and batted at Peter’s hands with all four limbs, but made no real effort to get away. 

“This-- this ain’t fair,” Rocket wheezed. “Why am I laughin’? Nothin’s even funny.”

Peter gave him a moment to breathe, then took one of his feet in each hand and blew on them, taking his face away just in time to save it from some serious scratches. “I’m funny,” he proclaimed. “Face it, fair or not, this is totally funny.”

It would have been practically suicidal to inform Rocket of how cute he looked, a helpless puddle of furry delight with chitters blending into his laughter, but it was enough for Peter to lie down next to him so they were face to face. Rocket opened one eye, then pushed a hand flat against Peter’s forehead. “No, don’t,” he gasped. “I can’t take any more.”

“I’m not gonna,” Peter assured him. He laid a hand on his side over the jumpsuit, firmly enough to avoid tickling him even in his heightened sensitivity. “Just gonna get this off you, if that’s alright.”

“Mmhuh,” Rocket mumbled. His hand moved to Peter’s cheek, and his tongue flicked out to taste his eyelids. “Take off yours too.”

“Don’t you want to?” Peter unfastened the straps of the jumpsuit, but took some time to slide his hand beneath it instead of removing it all at once.

Rocket squirmed an inch forward, edging himself out of the suit. “Nope. Too much work.”

“Fair enough.” Peter rose to his knees and peeled his shirt off, then his socks. By the time he got to his pants, Rocket had shucked his own clothing and was lying back, watching Peter with half-lidded eyes. Peter kissed the air. “Bet you do want to get back at me for proving you wrong, though.”

“Ya know if I did to you what you just did to me, you’d end up bleedin’ all over, right?” He brandished his claws, as if Peter would forget about them.

“Yeah,” said Peter, freed from his pants and boxers and getting horizontal again. “But you’ve still got fur and I’m still naked, so, we’re even.” He cupped Rocket’s face in his hand. “Tell me what you want? I’m at your service.”

Instead of answering, Rocket initiated a kiss in his own unique raccoon way: licking at Peter’s lips, lightly at first, then fast and wet as soon as they parted for him. Peter drew him closer with a hand under his ass, but he hadn’t even decided what to do with his other hand when he felt a caress on his bare cock. It stiffened quickly with the unexpected stimulation, and Peter automatically looked down even as he realized that what he was feeling was Rocket’s footpads, fondling him with gentle, rhythmic movements.

“Ooooommmm,” said Peter into Rocket’s jaws. “Keep...doing...that…”

“Thought you were at my service,” Rocket snickered, but he kept doing it. After a moment he dropped his muzzle to nibble his way down Peter’s throat, and then folded forward so he could bite his nipple without changing the action on his cock.

He was using his teeth, and it hurt. It hurt just exactly the right amount. Peter kept his hold on Rocket’s hips, but added his own hand to the footjob, and between the two of them it didn’t take long to make him come. As the warm streams spurted onto his chest, he heard himself making a sound a lot like Rocket’s yelps when he was tickled.

“Okay,” he breathed after a decent interval of revelling in the stillness. “Now I owe you everything. All yours. Name it.”

Rocket was at his side, head pillowed on his arm. His voice sounded wary and serious, like this was a business deal and he wasn’t sure how much negotiating power he really had. “Mouth,” he said, then paused before adding, “And...finger?”

“Hell yeah,” Peter responded instantly. A show of enthusiasm was often the only way to convince Rocket that there wasn’t anything wrong with what he wanted. Some of this was still new territory, and Rocket seemed like he hadn’t quite adjusted to his enjoyment of anal insertion. 

Peter rolled his index finger in the pool of semen still cooling on his belly, then wiped off the rest with the sheet and tossed it on the floor. Shyly, Rocket ducked his head but lifted his tail, and Peter edged his fingertip into the tight ring of muscle underneath. “C’mere,” he said softly, using his other arm to cradle his lover’s lower body and get it into position in front of Peter’s face. Rocket’s cock had emerged bold and pink from its sheath, and he was panting. 

Before he had opened his mouth, Peter got his face tickled by Rocket’s belly fur. He laughed, as much from the amusement of it as the sensation, and Rocket responded by yanking a double handful of his hair and growling, sotto voce, “What’s it gonna take to shut you up, baby boo?” 

It wasn’t a difficult question to answer. Peter opened wide for him, and Rocket thrust himself in with a loud moan. He shivered noticeably when Peter’s finger went deeper, but he must have lost his timidity when he gained his erection, because he was definitely the one running the show now. He rocked his hips, making Peter keep up with his rhythm as well as maintaining their shared balance, and to Peter’s glee, he was starting to experiment with dirty talk: “You like gettin’ your face fucked, huh? You like suckin’ on my cock? Shit, Pete, that feels so good....your tongue...feels so good...yeah.” He paused in his litany for a few deep, contented breaths, and when he spoke again there was mischief in his voice. “Alright, baby boo, I got a dare for you.”

Peter wasn’t about to stop sucking, so he raised his eyebrows and gave an inquisitive, “Mm?”

“See if you can make me laugh, since everythin’s so flarkin’ funny to you. See if...yeah...if you can do it right when I’m comin’ down your pretty throat.”

“ _Mmmm!_ ” hummed Peter, the only way he could make it known that the challenge was fully and gamely accepted. He began working out his strategy. The trick would be to take Rocket off guard, and he had plenty of ways to do that.

Rocket seemed to forget about the challenge as soon as it was stated. “Yeah, Pete,” he sighed, still clinging tight to Peter’s hair. “I love it when you do this...I love...I love…”

Taken off guard himself, Peter let his finger slip out of Rocket’s ass, and then it was now or never. He redoubled the efforts of his mouth, swirling his tongue around and increasing the suction, and as Rocket’s body began to shake with his orgasm, Peter moved his other hand up to his ribs and then his neck and tickled him mercilessly.

Rocket let out a moan that turned into a shriek and then broke apart into a gale of wild laughter, but Peter couldn’t stop to make a smug announcement about winning the dare, yet. He concentrated on swallowing each spurt as it came, and on holding Rocket in place, but his mind was working frantically to figure out if he had heard what he thought he had. Rocket _never_ talked about love, let alone said the words “I love you.” Could that really be changing?

Claws raked against his scalp, and he realized that Rocket’s gibbering had wound down and his aftershocks were finished. He was still seated in Peter’s hand, and it was only then that Peter registered that his other hand was splayed flat against Rocket’s back -- the forbidden territory. He could feel the bare skin, the scarification, and the hard protruding metal of the implants under his palm. To make matters worse, he was supporting enough of Rocket’s weight with that hand that he couldn’t just take it off without letting him fall over, and he couldn’t apologize or explain either, since his mouth was still full of Rocket’s cock.

He dealt with that part first, releasing him slowly and drawing a breath to steady himself as he lowered the raccoon to his lap. It seemed unreal that they were both so quiet now, after such a noisy sexual romp, and he knew he couldn’t just pretend that nothing had happened. He took his hand away and used it to wipe his mouth off before asking in a low voice, “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” said Rocket, sounding slightly dazed. “It always hurts. Didn’t really at all for a moment there, though.”

“Good. Good. Hey, I didn’t mean to. I wouldn’t have, not without -- I mean -- I got lost in the moment. Wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Rocket spoke to Peter’s chest instead of looking up at his face. “It’s weird. The things you do, I never woulda thought they’d feel good. I still don’t get why you laugh if I tickle you. But now I don’t know why I laugh when you tickle me, either.”

It was clear he wasn’t irritated, just contemplative, so Peter took a chance and said, “If I can propose another leap of faith in that theme...you’ve probably never been massaged before, right?”

“No,” Rocket confirmed. His ears flicked, and he raised his eyes to meet Peter’s. “Why, is that supposed to feel good, too?”

Peter had always suspected that Rocket suffered from his modifications, but this was the first time he had heard it straight from Rocket, and more importantly, it was the first time he had been given reason to believe he might be able to help. “If you let me rub down your back,” he said with utmost mildness, “you can decide for yourself.”

There was a very weighted pause, and then Rocket’s furry head crushed against Peter’s bare chest. “Yeah. Try it.”

Peter laid his hand down on Rocket’s bare back, and took the dare.


	7. Questions and Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Infinity War_ spoilers ahead...
> 
> ...
> 
> ...While Rocket is still on the road to recovery after the trauma of losing his family, Peter faces the reality of losing someone who won't come back. Neither is quite sure how to talk to each other about it, let alone their feelings for each other. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can blame this on my trashfriends from the Halfworld Discord server, who started talking about how much they wanted to see Rocket's reaction to finding out the other Guardians were killed in _Infinity War_ , and goaded me into continuing when I admitted that I had started writing a scene for it.
> 
> Even before that, though, I had thought it might be nice to explore how the loss of Gamora might pave the way for a romance between Peter and Rocket, so I decided to add that into the same story. I hope she's not really dead in canon and I have no interest in writing any disrespect for her character or relationship with Peter, but, it's just a good opportunity for my non-canon ship to fall into each other's arms.
> 
> This chapter gets somewhat explicit at the end, and is rated Adult.

When the ship coming down to land in Wakanda was identified as the Benatar, Rocket felt a rush of relief that ended as soon as he remembered that the other Guardians didn’t know about Groot yet. The relief didn’t return. He wanted his family back, he wanted them so badly, but the thought of being the one to give them the news filled him with too much dread to see past it. Would they blame him? No, he knew they wouldn’t. It would be better if they did.

The first one out of the hatch when the ship touched down was some human man that Rocket didn’t even know. He bared his teeth, tensing to spring, and Thor crouched down beside him and laid a massive hand on his shoulder. “A friend, sweet rabbit. He’s called Stark.”

Rocket didn’t answer. He hadn’t even been aware of Thor following him to the Benatar, but he couldn’t pick a fight with the Asgardian even if he hadn’t had more important things to do. Thor was the closest thing to a friend he had on this planet, at least until the Guardians came out of the ship.

Nebula came out next. Rocket dropped to all fours and ran to her, and she stood on the ground, just a few steps away from Stark, and watched him impassively, her arms at her sides. 

He knew there was something odd, even for Nebula, about the way she was acting. He knew there had to be a reason that nobody else had emerged from the Benatar. But his heart was too full of Groot, his mind was flooded with the enormous responsibility he had to speak the truth about the family’s loss, and all he could say to her was, “Groot…”

Her eyes widened briefly in surprise, the only sign she gave of her comprehension. She didn’t speak.

“The others,” Rocket said in a choked whisper.

Nebula lowered her eyes and shook her head. Some indeterminate span of time passed, and Rocket thought that he heard Thor’s voice. He didn’t remember anything else.

//////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\//////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\//////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Aware that he was the only one who could help, Thor was quick to make a habit of taking Rocket along with him. The little mammal wouldn’t hold onto him or ride on his shoulder, but his body was small and light, and he didn’t resist being carried. He ate whatever food was put into his mouth. He used the toilet if he was placed near one. With no discernible rhythm, he would periodically fall asleep against Thor’s chest and then open his eyes a few hours later, never yawning or speaking when he did.

Some of the Avengers asked questions, curious about Rocket or just looking for distractions from their own grief. Thor explained the situation to each of them succinctly, and soon it was simply expected that wherever he went, he would have a jumpsuit-clad raccoon nestled in his arms or buckled into a seat beside him.

“Don’t you think we should try to snap him out of it?” Steve suggested once, following a strategy session that had brought no hope to anyone. His years were weighing on him more every day, but he still looked down with compassion at Rocket, who sat in the chair next to Thor making no movement but the occasional blink.

“No,” said Thor. “He can find his way back, I believe, but we cannot find it for him.”

After the first week, Rocket’s condition began to improve, albeit gradually. Instead of sitting idly, he sometimes groomed his fur. His eyes began to focus on people or objects, usually for no more than a few seconds, but there was recognition and intelligence there. When he was touched by Thor or Nebula, he would lean into it or touch them back, and if it was anyone else, he would give a slight flinch. 

Thor thought it a breakthrough when one day, he was attempting to help the team restore some electronics meant for global communication, and Rocket, sitting on the work table where Thor had left him, casually reached into the machine’s cavity and moved a few parts that Thor hadn’t even noticed. In mere minutes, the device was active, but Rocket showed no reaction. The grease on his arm was the only sign that he had even participated.

Much later, looking back on this time in his life, Rocket didn’t remember fixing the machine. His real breakthrough, as far as he could tell, was the moment that he had overheard Nebula arguing with Tony Stark: “...either risk it or leave them there. Of course it’s not safe but the point is it’s possible…”

 _Possible._ The word hadn’t meant anything to him before that moment. No words had, really. But he knew beyond a shadow of doubt who was the “them” that Nebula wouldn’t leave, and if she thought something about them was possible...everything changed. There was work to be done.

It wasn’t surprising that Thor hadn’t noticed the significance of that moment. Rocket’s mind was still clouded, and for a while, the most he could consciously manage was to listen to conversations happening near him, picking out what was relevant in them and constructing some knowledge for himself about the state of the universe. He read whatever words were visible and studied anything mechanical around him, although he didn’t have enough language yet to ask for more information. Whenever Thor picked him up, he found he was grateful for it, and pressed his head closely against the man’s broad chest, sometimes clinging to his clothing with his hands. In softly voiced single words and short phrases, he relearned speech.

The Avengers, for the most part, knew nothing of this, but Rocket still had a place at every meeting, simply because Thor always brought him along. The sessions got heated fairly often, not because Earth’s heroes were angry at each other, but because they were all so full of despair that tempers flared even over potential solutions. One day, a particularly fraught quarrel was followed by a complete silence, broken only by sighs. Every person there heard Rocket saying clearly, “If you’re goin’ into the Quantum Realm you need a trans-warp proton phaser. I can make you one.”

Ignoring all of the gaping mouths around the table, Thor looked down and smiled at him. “Welcome back, rabbit.”

//////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\//////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\//////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

It had been months since the defeat of Thanos and the restoration of life in the universe as it should be, months since the surviving Guardians had taken leave of Earth and returned to the stars. Things should have been going back to normal by now, but Peter was beginning to think that there would never be a ‘normal’ again.

Drax and Mantis had rematerialized right alongside him, Groot had been back already when they were finally reunited with Rocket and Nebula, but Gamora was gone forever. It helped that he had been able to have one last conversation with her through the Soul Stone, and she had assured him that she understood what she was doing and was ready to make the ultimate sacrifice, but it also made it so much harder to let go. He had begged her to let him be the one to die instead. “Peter,” she had explained gently, “I know you would, but it wouldn’t work for you. The only way it will work is if it’s me.”

So the Milano flew on without her, and Peter did his best to build around another gaping hole in his world. He leaned on his friends, knowing that they mourned her too, but that was as much a worry as it was a comfort. All of them were a little bit lost without Gamora. The responsibility he had to keep the family together without her was intimidating.

Unexpectedly, Rocket seemed to take it the hardest. Peter could only imagine what he had gone through, trapped on Earth, watching Groot disintegrate and then finding out he had lost everyone else too. When Peter had made it back to Earth with Drax and Mantis, Rocket had tackled him in a hug and wouldn’t let go for long minutes, mumbling words of gratitude and devotion into his ear. His unbridled joy had been infectious, but it had to end. As gently as possible, Peter let him know that not everyone they loved had been restored. A quietness had followed. Rocket described his side of the story without offering many details about it, and beyond that he was still reluctant to talk about it. Gamora was the only topic of conversation that could really draw him in.

“It’s hard,” Peter began one night, and then stopped, unsure of what he had meant to say. He and Rocket were sitting on the bed that he used to share with Gamora, and only one small light was left on. Back before the war, Rocket - who had been plagued by night terrors for his entire life - used to creep into a friend’s bunk with fair frequency, and Peter and Gamora had grown accustomed to waking in the morning to find him curled up near their feet. Now, he spent nearly every night here. Peter had a sense that it wasn’t just for his own sake anymore, but that he knew that Peter needed the company too. 

“What’s hard?” said Rocket, lifting his head so that his penetrating brown eyes shone through the room’s half-light.

Peter exhaled and pushed himself deeper into the covers. “I don’t know. Everything. I mean, I miss Gamora. Obviously. But it’s kind of like I...I miss everyone else, too. Like none of us can just be ourselves anymore. Is that crazy?”

Rocket’s voice was hushed, but fully engaged. “No. No, that ain’t crazy.”

“You and me, we used to have so much fun together,” Peter went on, encouraged. “Now it’s like, we can’t even laugh.”

“‘Cos when we do, it feels like we’re leavin’ Gamora out.”

“Yes! And even though I know she would want us to be happy, we can’t just...be happy.” It felt like progress, that they had gotten this far, but Peter was still having trouble articulating exactly what he meant. He could have handled and overcome the guilt he felt about his occasional good mood. What he couldn’t do was ask Rocket to conjure up a good mood of his own.

Rocket shifted and turned his gaze downward. “Yeah. It don’t work like that.”

He sounded so forlorn that Peter couldn’t help sitting up and scooting forward to pet him, just for a moment, keeping within the relatively safe zone between his ears. Rocket nuzzled his hand and then turned away, and Peter took the hint and stopped petting, though he stayed sitting close beside him. “Do you want to tell me about what happened on Earth?” Peter suggested after a long pause.

There was a throat-clearing sound, as if Rocket had just stifled a cough or a sob. “I don’t even know what happened on Earth. I was useless. Braindead sack o’ nothing. Thought a couple days went by like that and then I asked and they said it was three months.”

“Shit, really?” Peter breathed. He thought back to a few conversations he’d had with Thor before they had parted ways. It all made more sense now: Thor hadn’t actually used the word “catatonic”, but he had made some grave references to Rocket’s state of mind, and warned that he would still need healing no matter how much improved he seemed to be now. “But...the Avengers said you were brilliant. They said they couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Yeah, I got better. Like that makes up for anything.”

Peter shook his head. “What would it need to make up for? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Rocket pulled a corner of the blanket over himself, muffling the humorless laugh in his response. “Dunno what makes you so sure about that.”

“Why,” said Peter reluctantly, “is there something you do remember from before you helped bring us all back?”

Now entirely hidden under the blanket, Rocket gave a neutral grunt, which sounded like it would be the last thing he contributed to the conversation. In another second he proved that false by adding, “I kissed Thor,” and only then falling silent.

//////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\//////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\//////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

At Peter’s insistence, the Guardians took on a paying job: straightforward, violent, and with no connection whatsoever to Thanos or the war. It took them less than a day to clear out the monsters for their client, and with success came a renewed hope for the future. They collected their payment and went to celebrate in a bar at the spaceport where the Benatar was docked, swaggering in and ordering “beer for heroes!” and making each other laugh.

By the time Peter reflected that it was the first time they had felt like a team since Gamora died, the sorrow of it was cushioned by a few drinks, and instead of moping at the table he told his friends he was going out to the balcony for some fresh air.

The atmosphere throughout the port was artificial, so the fresh air was a figment, but the balcony did have a nice cosmic view that reminded him of Knowhere. That in turn made him think of Gamora, and he leaned down on the waist-high railing and gazed out, ready to lose himself in memories until he realized that Rocket had followed him outside. “Oh, hey,” he said, straightening up. “Pretty sky here, huh?”

“That ain’t the sky, dumbass, it’s space,” Rocket replied affably. He leaped up to stand on the railing, making it look effortless but swaying in place once he got there: he’d been drinking as long as Peter had, and with less of a tolerance for it.

Peter smiled and put a hand on Rocket’s hip to steady him. The railing put them at about the same height, which Rocket took advantage of by leaning comfortably against Peter’s side. “See,” said the raccoon with a light slur. “We can still have fun together.”

“Damn straight. Thanks for helping me talk everyone else into it.”

“Ain’t nothin’. Hey. Quill. ‘Bout Thor.”

Peter felt like those words had somehow transported him straight into sobriety. He had thought a lot about what Rocket had said just before they went to sleep that night, and come to the conclusion that it wasn’t his place to ask questions. If Rocket was bringing it up himself, though, maybe he would get answers anyway. He wanted to know how a cyborg raccoon kissed - did he use teeth? Tongue? How would that feel against human lips? Was it a romantic impulse, or was there some other kind of instinct at work there? Did he ever do more than kiss, or wish he could? “What about Thor?” Peter asked.

“I got confused a lot when I was comin’ down from the shellshock. He was always there, takin’ care of me, and one day I was sittin’ there with him and….” Rocket sighed, sounding like he had sobered up a bit, too. “He didn’t kiss back. I think he knew what I was doin’, but all’s he did was move my face away from his. Never said a word about it to no one.”

“Thor’s good people,” Peter said carefully. “I can understand why you would, uh, have feelings...I mean…” He blew out a frustrated breath. He didn’t like trying to sound careful. Not with his best friend. “All I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry he didn’t stay with us. I hope it wasn’t because he thought I was jealous.” 

Rocket bumped his head gently against Peter’s shoulder. “Why would you be jealous, just ‘cos he’s taller than you, and like a billion times stronger, and older than our whole team put together, and he makes electricity come outta the sky like he owns it…”

“Alright, geez, enough!” Peter cut in. Thor was all of those things, he wasn’t denying that, but Thor was also the man who had helped bring everyone back from dust and watched over Rocket while they were gone. Of course Peter had been jealous when they first met, but he was over it now. Mostly. “I’m no God of Thunder, I know that.”

“D’ast right you’re not. That’s what I thought every time I looked at him. He was nothing like you. Sometimes I hated him for it.”

Thrown by the sudden change in the conversation’s tone, Peter kept his eyes pointed at the starscape and his hand at the small of Rocket’s back. He was caught in a flurry of emotion: pain for the way Rocket had suffered, pride that he was preferred to Thor after all, shame that he felt any pride over that. “So when you kissed him,” he ventured, “it wasn’t like a two-hearts-beat-as-one thing?”

Rocket shook his head. “Nah. Nothin’ like what you and Gamora had. Just me forgetting the way the universe works.”

Peter didn’t like the sound of that. The universe ought to work in whatever way made Rocket happiest. With these new discoveries, he was more determined than ever to pave the way for his friend to have the life he deserved, and if that meant talking him into believing that he deserved it, Peter thought he was up to the task. “I bet you find that someday, though. Someone to fall in love with, who falls in love with you right back.”

That was when Rocket stopped leaning on him, apparently no longer too unsteady to stand on the rail on his own two feet. His ears were pricked in a kind of silent but deep curiosity. Peter frowned, wondering if he had said something wrong and if humor was the right way to fix it. “I didn’t mean fall in love with _me…”_

Rocket held his gaze and replied, “I’ve always been in love with you, Quill.”

A revelation like that one needed some serious thought. Peter had to decide how he felt about it, consider what it meant for Rocket’s mental health and future, even give it a moment to be sure it wasn’t a joke. He did none of those things. Instead he cupped Rocket’s face in his hands and found out for himself what it felt like to kiss a cyborg raccoon.

//////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\//////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\//////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

“What the hell is going on?!” Peter yelled, ducking a barstool that had just come flying in his direction. “How did you guys get into a fight this fast when Rocket wasn’t even here to piss anyone off?”

“Hey!” Rocket emerged from under a table, wielding some loser’s blaster and giving Peter a dirty look. “You start fights as much as I do at least!”

Peter pushed the table over so he and Rocket could take cover behind it. “I wasn’t here either!” he protested, searching his pockets, probably for one of the smoke bombs Rocket knew he liked to carry. “This has to be Drax’s fault.”

There was the sound of two bodies hitting the floor from the other side of the overturned table, and then Mantis appeared and crouched down to join them. “It is not,” she explained calmly. “The fault was a robbery. We have apprehended all of the criminals now, I think.”

Peter and Rocket shared a bemused look. The gunfire was dropping off, and Drax’s cheerful voice could be heard demanding an additional round of drinks - on the house, since they had of course rescued the establishment. “Well,” said Peter, “at least it didn’t last long. Is Groot okay?”

“Oh, he went back to the ship an hour ago, to sulk.” Mantis peeked over the edge of the table, then stood up, evidently unconcerned about whatever was happening out there now. “I must see if we are getting free beer,” she said, and dashed away. Mantis didn’t drink beer, but she liked rewards.

Left alone in the aftermath with Peter, Rocket lost his courage and mumbled, “Better go check on him anyway. Make sure you snag one of them beers for me.”

It wasn’t until the following afternoon, after they had launched the Benatar together and everyone else had left the cockpit, that they were alone together again. It was such a natural thing to be co-piloting with Peter, talking flight paths and making dumb jokes, that Rocket didn’t even remember he had been avoiding it until Peter casually said, “Lucky break when there’s an emergency to deal with right after you kiss someone for the first time, huh?”

Rocket kept his eyes on the controls, feeling his ears heat up but knowing Peter had no way to tell. “You don’t have to...follow through with anything. We were drunk. I ain’t your type even if you didn’t already lose your soulmate, I get that.”

“Can I just be real with you for a minute?” Peter pushed his control panel away and his seat back, folding his arms over his stomach. “The only reason I ever think about someone else’s lovelife is if I want a piece of that. Whole time I was with Gamora, I never wanted anyone but her, so...when you told me you put the moves on Hammertime, it was kinda the first time I ever realized you had a sex drive. But ever since then, I haven’t been able to think about anything else.” He raised an eyebrow at Rocket. “And, just so you know, I’m completely sober right now.”

It was as if Rocket’s dreams were coming true, which wasn’t the kind of occurence that he could trust. “You got questions?” he asked flatly, operating on the assumption that Peter was just curious about his plumbing. Everyone who didn’t outright ignore him had questions about that, although they were usually delivered with snickers and answered with explosions. “Go ‘head. Answers ain’t gonna be pretty, but I owe you that much.”

Unfazed, Peter didn’t hesitate or rush, just asked, “Have you ever had sex?” 

“Yeah but…” Rocket swallowed and tried again. “I have, but it wasn’t, like…”

All the color suddenly drained out of Peter’s face. “Oh geez, man, forget it, I’m an idiot. You don’t have to talk about this.” 

He sounded truly apologetic, and it took a moment for Rocket to figure out that he had expecting the sentence to finish with the word ‘consensual’. Rocket groaned. “I know you’re an idiot, but let me finish, a’right? There were two times, and they were both part of some other deal. Money changed hands. I was desperate, it was messed up, the details would prob’ly make you puke, but it was my idea and my decision.”

“Oh. That’s a relief.” Peter sighed, giving Rocket a long sad look that made him want to hide from it. “So you’re not, like…forever turned off to doing the deed?”

“Not if it’s - I mean, I still got--” Rocket lost patience with his own fumbling and snapped, “Ah, who cares? Why are we even talking about this?”

Peter sat up straight and turned to face him, despite his seat still being in the reclining position. “We kissed, man! You told me you were in love with me! These are really fuckin’ relevant topics right now!”

“You didn’t tell me you were in love with me!” Rocket blurted out. “And don’t you dare try it now, either. You can’t replace Gamora with someone like me and I know it and I love you anyway but I ain’t gonna let you tell me any lies.” His throat felt tight all of a sudden, but he plunged onward. “If you wanna try out some new kink on me, Quill, it’s a pretty fair bet to say I’d enjoy it more than you would. And maybe you got enough pity in your heart that you’d do it anyway, but no thanks. I got too much to lose, all over again. No thanks.”

It took longer than he would have expected to hear Peter’s comeback, and then it was softer and more relenting than it should have been after that diatribe. “Yeah, you know what, I screwed this whole thing up. I guess I can’t blame you for thinking I was just after some booty. And maybe it is too soon after losing Gamora to start something new.” He stood up, but didn’t come any closer. “All I was trying to say is...I really liked kissing you. And I’ve always loved you. I hope you won’t stop sleeping in my room.”

He left the cockpit. Rocket wanted to call him back, but he hadn’t the faintest idea of what to say.

//////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\//////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\//////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Peter awoke to something furry moving beneath his blankets. Somehow, Rocket had made it all the way up to his chest before waking him, and now he was nuzzling his throat and...and _purring_. Rocket had never done that before in his hearing, or even implied that he could do it, but it was unmistakable and wonderful. “You’re just full of surprises,” Peter murmured, in lieu of being able to purr back at him.

One little clawed hand shot up to grab him by the hair and aim his face, and then they were kissing, wide open and hungry and wet. Peter pulled Rocket’s body tighter to his own, and in doing so realized that there was no clothing on him at all. For the first time ever, Peter had clearance to run his hands through all that thick fur, from his shoulders down his sides to his legs. He did it again and again, changing his path to massage Rocket’s thighs and slide his tail through his hand, and Rocket didn’t stop kissing him for a second.

There was no need to wonder if he could stray toward Rocket’s cock, too: it was already pressed against his bare stomach, gliding on a narrow path of moisture that it had created as Rocket began to roll his hips. It felt stiff and straight, and generously sized, and Peter was more sure than ever that Rocket’s fears about his ability to please were misplaced. Peter disentangled his tongue and used one hand to cup Rocket’s head under his chin, keeping the other clasped over the base of his tail. “It’s okay,” he said in a whisper. “Take it slow. I just want to be near you.”

Rocket didn’t answer, but his purr got louder, a moving rhythm of ticks and rustles. He let Peter hold him like that for a long moment, and then his lust must have surged up again, for his hips were thrusting, his claws digging into Peter’s bicep. 

Peter rolled them over, effectively pinning Rocket on his back and looming over him. He didn’t know why, but he knew he had something to say and it had to be now. “I’m not replacing Gamora,” he informed Rocket at his normal speaking volume. “I love you for who you are. What we have is real, whatever it becomes.”

It was hard to see any expression on him in the dark, but when Rocket’s purr finally faltered, his voice was clear: “Then let’s make it something good.”


End file.
